


Night Monsters

by qthelights



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Invisibility, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-18
Updated: 2009-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qthelights/pseuds/qthelights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night isn't only for monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Monsters

Ianto is drunk, and Jack is well on his way to joining him. They stagger across the plass, their world a succession of out of focus paving stones, huffs of steam expanding into the frozen night air. Beer and vodka mix with hiccups. 

There are no monsters in this world.

They’re aiming for the Hub, in theory. But Ianto veers off course toward the bay at a dangerous angle, barely managing not to trip over his own uncooperative feet. Jack swerves to stay beside him, an arcing circle to Ianto’s straight lines. 

The railing props up their arms, pushes back against the sloping heaviness of their bodies and keeps them from toppling into the murky black liquid below.

“Are the stars blurry?” Ianto asks, squinting doggedly up at the swirling pinpricks of incandescence. 

“Some.” Jack smiles fondly at the slur in Ianto’s voice in the superior way that only someone who erroneously thinks they’re still sober can. He leans more fully against Ianto, pressing their arms together, elbow to shoulder.

“But are they really blurry? _Actually_ blurry, up-close?” Ianto asks, face serious, brow crinkling in tipsy confusion. His fingers tap out meaningless rhythms against the cold metal of the rail.

“Some.” Jack follows Ianto’s gaze into the inky-black sky.

“Cool,” Ianto says, sounding for all the world like the child of the eighties that he is.

 _Nineteen_ -eighties, Jack amends in his head when decades throw up dozens of incongruous images. He slips his arm around Ianto’s shoulders, warding off the ice that lines the air. Ianto’s arm shoots out to clutch him around the waist, his fingers curl around the material of Jack’s coat.

Jack secretly loves that Ianto is a clingy drunk.

Ianto’s eyes are wide and dark, darting from star point to the next, trying to see all of them at once. Jack can fairly feel the thrum of nervous energy that jitters through him. Can feel the incessant shuffle-tap of Ianto’s foot where it presses against his own.

They went drinking to forget, to relax and pretend that the world is fair and sane and can look after itself. That monsters don’t exist.

Instead of relaxing them it has wound them up more. Ianto burps in a very un-butlery manner.

Jack grins. “You’re pretty when you’re drunk.”

“I’m always pretty,” Ianto scoffs, turning slightly to look at Jack from the corner of his eye.

“True,” Jack accedes. He nudges Ianto’s shoulder. Turns him until Ianto’s back is pressed against the rail and he is pressed firmly against him. Jack slides his arms inside Ianto’s coat, links them around his waist, wills Ianto to let go of the tension. Ianto stills, settles. Obeys.

“You’re sentimental when you’re drunk,” Ianto mocks, quietly enjoying the warmth that seeps into him from Jack’s closeness.

“Also true,” Jack replies. He leans in and kisses the tip of Ianto’s nose in gross display. Mostly he does it to feel the blush that inevitably radiates across Ianto’s cheeks. 

The embarrassed groan is only added benefit. 

Ianto half-heartedly shoves at him in reprimand and Jack happily uses it as an excuse to push back, settling his hips in against Ianto’s. Neither of them rock further. The absence of movement builds its own slow ferocity. 

They refuse to acknowledge the heat, the beginning stirs of arousal, twitches against cotton and thigh.

They stay that way, silently letting the Cardiff night slip around them. A gull calls out across the waves. No one answers its cry. 

Across the plass a teenage couple is weaving in and out of the concrete bollards. A third boy runs ahead of them, clumsily jumps up onto one of the pillars, arms outstretched. King of the world. He falls off and the other two laugh raucously. It echoes across the plaza and fades out into the ocean.

They disappear into the streets beyond and the night falls silent again.

Jack nuzzles his face down into the crook of Ianto’s neck. His nose is cold and he can feel the answering shiver whip across Ianto’s skin like a run in silk. He nips lightly behind an ear. 

He can fully feel Ianto’s cock now, pressing through thin trousers against his hip, knows Ianto can feel an answering press from him. But they remain still, unmoving.

Well, mostly.

“Wanna do it on the lift?” Jack whispers leeringly into the warm skin of Ianto’s throat. Ianto knows without seeing, the curl of the lip and the crinkled amusement that are present in Jack’s eyes.

Ianto turns his gaze to the cold monolith of the water tower across from them. “Not really.”

“Oh c’mon,” Jack cajoles, his voice dropping a register and adding gravel for good measure. “Perception filter. No one will see.” 

He punctuates his sentence with a minute shift of his hips, just a small hitch against the growing tension between them. Ianto’s breath sucks in a little sharper. 

Jack leaves the warm confines of Ianto’s throat and pulls back so they are face to face in the moonlight.

They lapse into silence again. It waits to be broken.

“What if I want people to see?” Ianto says it so matter of fact, as if it is clearly the only response to Jack’s lewd suggestion, that Jack almost doesn’t register it as significant.

He is definitely unsure how to take such a puzzling statement. His head cocks slightly to the side and an eyebrow arches. “Pardon?”

“What if,” Ianto repeats slowly, his hands sliding down Jack’s torso to rest on the juts of his hips, “I…Want…People…To…See.”

Ianto punctuates _his_ sentence with a sharp tug on the hips his fingers are splayed over, pulling their trapped erections into sharp friction.

Jack’s moan is stuttered in surprised arousal. “I need to get you drunk more often,” he mutters, freely giving in to the motion, and tilting his hips up, clothed cock rubbing along Ianto’s. 

“I’ve often thought so,” Ianto muses, slides back in turn and this time elicits a shuddery hiss.

The spell of quiet non-movement is split as shards of heat start to lance through them. Jack wantonly hitches and rubs against Ianto’s warmth, the hard anchor of his cock, in a rhythm that is nothing but familiar to them.

Ianto groans and the sound is startlingly loud in the silence of the night, not even slightly competing with the waves that crash and break against the wall below. It is as if Cardiff has fallen silent to better eavesdrop on the increasing ragged breaths and mewling whimpers they begin to drag from each other. 

Ianto’s hands are still gripping Jack’s hipbones, fingers digging into clothed flesh. He takes Jack’s hands and tugs him toward the invisible lift. “C’mon.”

Jack’s heart sinks only a little knowing that they are retreating to the safety of the Hub.

But Ianto bypasses the lift-stone, pulls him to the left of it. Well clear of the perception filter’s purview.

The water down the tower isn’t running. The council has it turned off to fix a water pipe running through the plass. So when Ianto roughly presses Jack up against the metal pillar they aren’t showered by a fountain of water. Not that it would make much difference, Jack has the fleeting presence of mind to think, he feels like he’s just been doused with the sudden realization that Ianto wants to fuck him there. 

In the middle of the plass. 

Where anyone, _everyone_ , can see.

“Seriously?” Jack grins wolfishly before Ianto’s tongue is suddenly in his mouth, hot and insistent and stark in its contrast to the frigid feel of the tower at his back.

“Mmmph,” is Ianto’s only reply, his hand coming up to tangle in Jack’s hair, wrench his mouth closer and his tongue deeper. Jack tastes like vodka, and smoke from the pub, a taste which goes straight to Ianto’s cock, pulsing against Jack’s thigh.

Ianto can feel the pre-come, surprisingly cool as it seeps into his briefs, molding the cotton to the tip of his cock. He wrangles a hand in between him and Jack, squeezing himself… hard and quick… as he passes and fumbles his fingers around Jack’s belt buckle.

Jack doesn’t help matters as he pushes his hips up into Ianto’s fingers, desperate for contact and friction. Ianto briefly obliges, pressing down against the bulge that strains against Jack’s trousers. The way Jack’s tongue stutters stock-still in his mouth and Jack’s eyelids snap shut, eyelashes casting moonlit shadows across his cheek, is more than enough reason to leave his hand there a moment longer, to tug and pull at Jack’s erection just a little more.

Ianto eventually negotiates back to Jack’s belt buckle, slides it open with a pinging clatter that echoes obscenely far across the plass. He works Jack’s zip down and greedily slides his hand under the band of Jack’s underwear, gripping the searing hardness of Jack’s cock and mercilessly pumping, pre-come slicking his hand with each downward stroke.

Jack’s head drops back with a muted metallic _thud_ that ripples up the tower in a depraved echo. Jack’s hips lif off the metal, thrusting awkwardly, erratically, desperately trying for synchronicity with Ianto’s hand. 

Ianto can feel Jack growing thicker under his fingers.

“Hang on,” he murmurs, one last squeeze before he lets Jack slip from his grasp. 

Jack whimpers and Ianto chuckles at the petulant whine hidden in it. He grasps his own belt buckle, fingers slipping as the pre-come coating them slides across the steel.

A second metal clang echoes across the plaza. There is no doubt that anyone hearing their noise knows what’s going on.

A police siren whines in the background, and they both pause in reflex. 

Jack grins lopsidedly, “Hazard of the job.”

Hear a siren pick it up. Or something. 

“One of many,” Ianto notes with an arched brow. He cuts off Jack’s reply with the grating teeth of his zip coming undone. Jack shuts up, his gaze fixed downwards on Ianto’s hands freeing his cock. Jack can’t help himself and his hand darts out, index finger tracing the blushed swell of Ianto’s head.

Ianto sucks his breath in through his teeth in a harsh whisper. “Fuck. Jack.”

“Yes?” Jack grins, betraying the innocent tone. A biting wind whips past them, mussing hair and hitting exposed skin with ruthless ferocity.

“More,” Ianto grunts, freeing Jack’s cock once more and slapping it hurriedly against his own, hot flesh against hot flesh. He winds a hand around underneath, holding their cocks in the palm of his hand. Jack places his own hand over the top, fingers and thumbs overlapping with Ianto’s.

Ianto steps closer, trapping hands and cocks between them, latches his teeth onto Jack’s bottom lip and begins without further ado to thrust in and out of their makeshift grip. His trousers slip further down his ass, still hidden from view by his coat, but dipping towards his ankles. It’s the farthest thing from his mind.

Jack knows that if anyone walks past they’ll be presented with an eyeful. Two men, locked together, leaning against the metal expanse of the tower as if their support is the sole reason it continues to reach high above them into the dark sky. Rutting and heaving against each other in its shadow. Gasping and groaning at the glorious friction.

It’s the best image Jack has had all week, and the reality is even better.

Their pre-come is slicking their cocks and the slide intensifies. Ianto’s teeth in his lip bite harder and the coppery taste of blood registers vaguely on his tongue. It’s all he can do to try and anchor their jerking hips together as they strive simply for _more_.

This is simple. This is easy and known and just them. No more Torchwood. Just hands and bodies and cocks and the basics of living.

Ianto’s hand tightens and wrings a shuddered breath out of them both. The catches creeping into Ianto’s labored breathing alert Jack to his readiness to come.

The lone gull from earlier swoops past them in a rush of wind beaten air. Its crackling caw above their heads is ear-splitting in the silence of the night and startles Ianto into slipping over the edge, thrusting fiercely into the circle of their hands, once, twice, three times and Ianto is coming, spurting hot fluid into their hands, over Jack’s still hard cock.

The heat of the liquid and the stuttered “ _Jack_ …” that escapes Ianto’s lips and into Jack’s mouth undoes Jack too and he’s adding to the sodden mess in their hands.

“Jesus, Ianto…” Jack is shaking slightly, he presses his face into Ianto’s shoulder, shudders as an aftershock of orgasm goes through him. There is come dripping through their fingers, lightly spattering the stones at their feet like wax from an over-burnt candle.

Ianto leans into Jack, spent and suddenly exhausted. He doesn’t bother answering. He doesn’t need to.

They stay there, still again, until the sounds of distant traffic and the fog-horn of an unseen boat filter back into conscious recognition. The teenagers from earlier are also back, brazen voices clearly distinguishable from the far side of the plass. Metres from moving past the shadow of the tower that shelters them from view.

“Come on,” Jack whispers softly, stepping away and letting their softening cocks feel the brunt of the night temperatures. He tugs Ianto sideways with him, onto the lift and relative safety of the perception filter. 

They lean into each other as the stone gives way beneath them, swallowing them into the safety of the Hub. Their private cavern in the middle of public Cardiff.

As the lift descends they slip easily into their earlier stillness.

There are no monsters in this world.


End file.
